Elite: Trailblazers Oneshots
by Mo1eculeMan
Summary: Oneshots based on my main story, Elite: Trailblazers. More will come, albeit infrequently.
1. Chapter 1

Nathan Wolfe sat on the couch, reading his new favourite book: A History of Space Travel. It was meant to be his birthday present from his dad, but Nate found its hiding spot a few days before. By the time his dad found out, Nate had already ripped it open and begun to read. His dad let him have the book early in the end. He wasn't one to sweat the small stuff.

The book was, as one could guess from the title, about Nate's favourite topic: space. It detailed the whole of space travel, from the Space Race in the 1960's to the faster-than-light travel that had made the world he knew possible. Currently, he was reading a very interesting chapter on the generation ships, massive self-sustaining ships that humans had sent out into space before faster-than-light travel was invented. Tens of thousands of them had been sent into the black before FTL travel made them obsolete, but not all of them arrived successfully. Many were still unaccounted for, more than a thousand years later.

Nate had just begun reading about those that were still missing when his father walked in, hanging his bag on a peg by the door. Nate jumped up from the couch ran to his dad, hugging him as tightly as he could.

"Dad!" he half-yelled. His father had been out for the past week on a long-distance hauling trip, but had managed to finish in time to get home tonight, on his birthday.

"Hey, buddy, how are ya?" His dad hugged him back just as tightly. Nate let go of him and they both rose to their full height. At twelve years old, Nate hadn't hit his first growth spurt yet, and as such he stood at a bit under five feet. His father William, on the other hand, was a solid six foot three, his build muscular from almost two decades of working on ships. The transport ships the trading company provided weren't exactly new, and something was bound to go wrong during the longer hauls. At some point, Nate's dad had grown tired of waiting for a repair ship to come by and learned how to fix a ship himself. It saved time on runs and the trading company appreciated it quite a bit. At least, that's what he had told Nate.

"I'm okay, Dad. I love the book so far! It's super cool!" Nate said. Will smiled at that.

"Great to hear. You ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I am!" Nate stopped, thinking. "Where are we going?" That earned a laugh from his dad. He'd been hinting at a birthday trip for quite a while now, but no matter how much Nate pestered his dad he wouldn't give up any details about it.

"I'll give you a hint," William replied, leaning in to whisper into Nate's ear. "It's not on Lave."

Nate's eyes lit up like lightbulbs. "We're going off-world?" he half-squealed.

"You got that right, buddy. I've found something I know you'll love, so I'm taking you out there for your birthday," his dad said. Nate practically jumped for joy.

"Well, what are we waiting for let's go!" He ran to the mudroom to grab his shoes.

Nate sat in the cockpit of the Cobra Mk III his father had rented, drinking in every detail about it. To his left was his dad, sitting in the pilot's seat. The Cobra was sitting on the surface, on a landing pad not far from their house. The systems were finishing starting up and William turned to his son.

"All strapped in? Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yup! I can't wait!" was the eager reply.

"Alright, then! Here we go!" Nate's dad released the docking clamps from the pad and the they were off, the power plant sending a low hum through the whole of the ship. He eased back on the stick to point the ship towards the sky and throttled up just a bit, getting the little ship clear of the pad. Once far clear from the ground William aimed the Cobra towards the first system on the route and started charging the Frame Shift Drive. Nate's eyes went almost comically wide as he took everything in.

"That's so cool! Is it like that every time?" he asked his dad.

"Pretty much, yeah. That's not the coolest part of it, not nearly," he said. "You ready for your first jump?" Nate didn't say anything. He just nodded.

"Hold on tight then!" The ship's computer started the jump countdown.

4…

3…

2…

1…

Engage.

Nate stood in the cockpit a few jumps later, his nose practically pressed to the glass. In front of him was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He didn't even know what it was. In front of the ship was a pinpoint of white light. Two cone-shaped jets emanated from either end, blue near their origin and fading to a pale purple the further away they were. It reminded Nate of shining a flashlight through a smoke cloud and being able to see the beam. To the right of the first was another pinpoint, more distant and the blueish-purple streams from it more wispy.

"Dad," he said, after a moment of silence, "what is that?"

His father turned to him with a smile. "That," he began, "is a neutron star: a ball of neutrons as small as an asteroid but more dense than anything in the universe except a black hole. They're probably the most extreme things in the universe. And, in my own personal opinion, the most beautiful. That one to its right is a white dwarf star. Not as amazing, but still pretty cool, I'd say."

Nate was speechless. He'd have to agree with his dad: it was probably the coolest thing he'd ever seen. How long he stood staring at the stars he had no idea, but at some point his dad walked over and hugged him from behind.

"Happy birthday, Nate."


	2. Chapter 2

Krystal Anderson lightly pushed open the door to the Grinning Skull. She'd been to the bar a few times in the past couple of weeks, and despite its grimy appearance she was starting to like it. It was situated right in the heart of the Gray Sector of Altair City, where the law enforcement barely bothered to go. As such, it was an excellent place for criminal gangs, drug dealers, and humble street urchins such as herself to live.

It had been a long day today. Krystal hadn't been able to pick as many pockets as she'd have liked, and only narrowly avoided a confrontation with a cop in the marketplace. Overall, she needed something to wind down with, and the Skull was the closest option. She strode over to the bar and nearly collapsed into a seat, glancing around the dimly lit room. Nobody had paid her any attention when she walked in, but she got a few funny looks when she sat down.

"Long day, huh?" the bartender asked. He was busy wiping down some glasses left behind by customers.

"Long week," Krystal replied flatly. "Whatcha dishin' out tonight? Need somethin' to take the edge off."

"I've got just the thing." The bartender slid her a glass of cloudy yellowish liquid. "House special. Nothing too heavy." Krystal eyed the drink for only a moment before downing nearly half the glass. She winced and coughed.

"That doesn't go down so smooth, does it?" she choked out. That was an understatement.

"Hey, it's not top shelf booze, lady. Either it hurts your throat, or it hurts your wallet. Pick your poison."

"Point taken." She grabbed the glass and gulped down the rest of it. She winced again and felt her eyes tearing up, but this wasn't her first drink. She'd get used to it. She always did, on nights like these.

She pushed the glass back to the bartender, who caught it without looking up. He filled it wordlessly and slid it back, but it didn't quite reach her hand. Someone else had grabbed it on its way back, and Krystal looked up to see who'd denied her the glass of liquid relaxation.

The culprit was a barrel-chested man in a leather jacket, square-jawed and stern-faced. He leaned over and looked Krystal straight in the eye. "Now what have we here?" he said quietly. His breath didn't smell of alcohol; he must've just walked in.

"A really tired-ass girl who wants to be left alone so she can have a drink," Krystal deadpanned. "I believe you have something of mine." She gestured to the glass in his hand.

"I believe you have something of mine," the man growled. His voice was deep and sounded like he was gargling gravel. Krystal tilted her head; she didn't quite get what he meant. She'd never seen him before, as far as she could remember.

"He means his seat. He always sits there," the bartender called. He was busy serving another customer at the other side of the bar, but he continued to watch the two out of the corner of his eye.

Krystal chuckled a bit to herself. "What's wrong, Tiny? You usually sit here at lunchtime with your friends?" In most other circumstances she would've been more accommodating, as she didn't like making trouble where she didn't have to. Tonight, though, was the first night in a long time she'd had to relax. She wouldn't stand for having her seat taken by the bar's equivalent of a playground bully.

Tiny, evidently, didn't like his new nickname. He set the glass down, his anger barely controlled. His face twisted into a snarl. "Now listen here. That is _my_ seat," he said, poking her hard in the chest. "Nobody sits there except _me_. I've had a tough week, and I want _my_ beers in _my_ seat. Now are you going to move, or am I going to have to make you?"

Krystal reached for her drink, careful not to make any sudden moves. Calmly, she drained the rest of the glass. The alcohol didn't sting anymore. "Fine," she said. She rose from her seat, dusted herself off, and stepped aside so Tiny could sit in his ever-coveted barstool. "Go ahead." She sauntered back towards the door at the front of the bar. A glance around showed that a few of the customers in the bar had turned to look at the altercation with mild disinterest. Clearly, Tiny had evicted more than a few people from his seat.

Krystal decided that she'd be the last.

She reached for the door but didn't open it. Instead, she latched the door's top bolt closed, bending down to repeat the process for the lower one. She stepped over to the neon "OPEN" sign in the window and unplugged it from the wall.

"Hey, whaddya think your doin', lady?" the bartender called over. Arguments and squabbles were bound to happen in any bar in the area, but someone messing with _his_ bar was a step too far.

"Relax, pal. This is for the best," Krystal responded. "You know, there's an old movie where something like this happened." By now she had the full bar's attention. "Anyone remember what comes next?" Silence. Tiny was glaring at her with a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Krystal sighed and shook her head in mock disappointment. "No respect for the classics…" she muttered. She picked up an empty glass from a nearby table yet to be cleaned by the bartender. Krystal tested its weight for a second before hurling it as hard as she could, right at Tiny's head.

Tiny, to his credit, wasn't inebriated yet, and managed to avoid a direct hit. The glass glanced of the side of his head and shattered against the wall behind the bar. The bartender, now certain he couldn't stop a fight, ducked for cover. Many patrons did the same.

"Goddamnit, lady, you asked for it!" Tiny sprang out of his seat and lunged straight at Krystal, swinging a hard right hook at her face. Calm as ever, Krystal ducked back and just barely dodged the punch. She kicked the now off-balance Tiny hard in the side and sent him stumbling into the wall. An unpleasant surprise came when Tiny rose from the floor and pulled a knife out of his jacket, gleaming wickedly in the dim light. He dove at her once more, slashing and stabbing wildly. Krystal was forced to jump back out of range of the blade and grabbed at behind her for something to defend herself with - she was good, but a knife was a knife.

Her solution came in the form of a barstool, which she swung around in front of her to block a deadly overhead stab that would've taken her eye out. The tip of the knife stuck fast in the seat of the wooden seat and Krystal pulled it back, disarming Tiny. He didn't have time to recover before Krystal raised the barstool over her head and brought it down on Tiny, _hard_. The old seat finally gave way and splintered into pieces, leaving Krystal with two chair legs in each hand. Tiny was fazed but recovered quickly, snatching up the knife that had been knocked loose from the impact. He lunged again, but Krystal was armed this time. She crossed the chair legs in front of her in an X shape, catching the knife between them. In a move she'd practiced so many times it had become muscle memory, she bent her wrists and twisted the knife out of Tiny's hands, throwing it to the floor once again. Krystal sent the knife skittering off into some dark corner of the bar with a kick before smacking Tiny in the jaw with the end of a chair leg. He staggered back, sizing up the tall, lithe girl that was beating him almost effortlessly. He was already out of breath, while she was still standing straight with little more than a bored expression on her face.

"Jesus, lady, where'd you learn to fight?" he panted.

"Mean streets, these are," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "None too kind to people who can't defend themselves. Honestly, though, I was expecting a bit more of a fight out of you, Tiny. You're like double my weight and had a knife, and here I am kicking your ass with a barstool."

Tiny did _not_ like that. Fully giving into rage, he swung wild punches at Krystal in an attempt to do _anything_ to her, to make her sorry for taking _his_ seat at the bar. Infuriatingly enough, Krystal calmly backed away and dodged every punch he threw, delivering swift jabs whenever she saw an opening. Tiny's stance became sloppy, and Krystal moved on the offensive, first hitting him with a swift jab to the throat before sinking her fist into his gut, sending him reeling into the bar. The second hit knocked the air out of his lungs and he grasped the bar counter for support, coughing and wheezing. Krystal stood over him, haughty and aloof.

"I'll give you one chance, Tiny. You can get up and get out of here right now and never come back. Or," she continued, leaning over to look him in the eye, "you can stay here and have me drag your sorry ass out."

Tiny snarled at her. "Go to hell," he said. He grabbed a beer stein from the table and swung it at her. Krystal ducked the blow easily - he was worn out and his movements were sluggish - before grabbing the back of Tiny's head and slamming it as hard as she could against the corner of the bar. The beer stein slipped from Tiny's hand and landed with a thud on the floor, an unconscious Tiny crumpling next to it.

The room fell dead quiet. Everyone in the bar was either staring at Krystal or cowering behind cover, and nobody made a move to pick up Tiny or apprehend Krystal. Clearly he didn't have many friends here. Krystal dug through Tiny's pockets and found his wallet, taking it back to her seat at the bar. Her empty glass was still sitting where Tiny had set it down earlier. The bartender was staring at her wide-eyed, only peeking up after the fight ended.

"What the hell, lady? Look at what you did to my bar!" he said. There was, to his credit, a fair amount of damage left over from the fight. Tables were knocked over or smashed, and the infamous barstool laid in pieces. Krystal dropped Tiny's wallet in front of the barkeeper.

"That should pay for it. And drinks for me for the rest of the night," she added. "If he shows up again after tonight, tell him I plan on coming back here a lot. Should keep him away." She slid her glass across the bar to him. "Gimme another shot of whatever that house swill is.


End file.
